On the Road Again
by MaverickLover2
Summary: When the Maverick brothers go to San Antonio for one final poker playing junket before the new babies are born, it turns into something neither one ever expected – a kidnapping.
1. Going Somewhere?

Chapter 1 – Going Somewhere?

"You sure this is gonna be alright?" That question came from the older brother, Bret.

"Perfectly fine. They've both got around six weeks to go before the babies are born. They'll be fine." The answer came from the younger brother, Bart.

They were the Maverick Brothers, Bret and Bart, and had been professional poker players most of their lives. They were involved in horse breeding at this point in their careers, but both still played poker when the spirit moved them, and the spirit had been doin' some mighty big suggesting recently. Of course, there was a big difference between the prospective daddies.

Bart and his wife Doralice, who ran the biggest and best saloon in Little Bend, Texas, were waiting on baby number five. Bret and his wife Ginny, who worked as a Regional Director of the Pinkerton Detective Agency, were expecting their first child. Well, sort of their first child. Bret and Ginny had taken in baby Grace Louise when their good friends, her mother and father, died within a few days of each other, and never looked back. Grace resembled Bret so much that few people knew she wasn't their biological child. Thus the nervousness in the older brother and the calm, casual air in the younger.

"How can you be so hastiado (blasé) about it?" Bret was having a difficult time with some of the things his younger brother handled so naturally.

"I wasn't when the twins were born. You have to remember we've been through this before. Many times. You get used to it."

"That's easy for you to say," Bret mumbled under his breath.

"Calm down, Pappy. If you'd rather not go, we can wait until six or seven months from now. Or cancel the trip altogether. Whatever works best for you."

"No, no, I wanna go, and Ginny's practically pushin' me out the door. Says I'm drivin' her crazy. Do they always get like this?"

Bart burst out laughing. "Get used to it, big brother. You didn't really think you were in charge at home or anyplace else, did you?"

Bret shrugged. "You coulda warned me."

A shake of the head. "Not a chance. This is somethin' you needed to experience for yourself. You'll live through it." Bart poured himself another cup of coffee. They were standing at the bar at Maude's, the saloon that Bart and Doralice owned. They were supposed to leave for San Antonio at any time, but they were still drinking coffee and debating the merits of a last-minute getaway right before they both became fathers (again).

"Well, if we're goin', let's go. Before I change my mind."

Bart slapped his brother on the back. "You can change your mind all you want, Bret. If you were to walk back in that house right now, Ginny'd throw you out on your ear."

Doralice came out of her office just then, humming a tune and sniffing the air. "Still drinkin' that stuff, my love?" she asked Bart, and he nodded happily.

"Sorry it bothers you so much," he told her.

"Ginny's the lucky one. Bret doesn't know what it's like to have a wife that can't drink coffee anymore. For her sake, I hope it stays that way."

"I don't know how you stand behind this bar as many hours as you do," Bret told his sister-in-law. "I have to walk Grace at night when she cries – Ginny can't stay on her feet that long."

"It gets easier," Doralice replied. "Where is she, by the way? I thought she'd be here to send you boys off and wish you well."

"I'm here, I'm here!" A familiar voice called as a very large, very round Ginny Malone Maverick more or less waddled in, balancing a nine-month-old gurgling bundle of black hair on her left hip. "Tell me again why I thought this was a good idea," she laughed as she temporarily handed Bret his daughter. "Been askin' for her daddy ever since we left the house."

Grace lit up like a little Christmas tree as soon as she saw Bret. "Pa . . . pa . . . pap."

"Close enough, baby girl," he murmured to her as he kissed her on the nose. She squealed, like she always did.

"I'll take her now," Ginny reached out for her daughter.

"No, you won't," Bret insisted. "I'm gonna be gone for a few days. Leave us alone."

"That's disgusting, isn't it?" Bart asked his wife.

"Who do you think he learned it from?" Doralice was quick to reply. "Ginny, you here to stay with me for a while?"

"You sure you still want me here? I promise to be nothing but trouble."

"I've got four babies and one more on the way. You couldn't be any trouble if you tried. Your wagon out front?"

"It is."

"Bartley, honey . . . "

Bart chuckled. "I know, go unload the wagon before me and Bret leave for San Antoine. Yes, ma'am." He turned to his older brother. "Come on, Pappy, your arms ain't broken."

The two men left, laughing and harassing each other unmercifully. Bret handed the baby to Ginny on his way out, and she reached out both tiny hands and did her best to grab on to her father, all the while trying desperately to gurgle "Pappy."

"God help us if we get another one just like her," Ginny asserted.

"Nope, you won't. That's a boy in there. You got a name picked out yet?"

"Bartley Joseph, what else?"

"Bart may never forgive you for that. He likes _'Bart,'_ but he's always hated _'Bartley.'_ Can't talk you into anything else, can I?"

"Not a chance, Doralice. Bret's dead set on it. Says he's been waiting years to have a son named after his brother, and nothin' on earth is gonna change his mind. Even if it's a girl."

The women were still laughing as Bret and Bart returned. "Oh, dear, I think we're in trouble. Again. Maybe we should get outta here before they change their minds and make us stay."

"Worse yet, they could make us have the babies," Bart volunteered.

"Just how hard could that be?" Bret asked innocently.

"Run!" Bart yelled at the top of his lungs. "Run for your life!" He grabbed Doralice and kissed her, heading for the horses tied outside. In one smooth movement he jumped on his stallion's back, grabbed a handful of mane and chucked "giddup." Bret was right behind him.


	2. Blackwood

Chapter 2 – Blackwood

"Did we have to leave in such a hurry?"

Bart nodded, still chuckling over the way they'd departed Little Bend. "After you insulted all womankind about havin' babies? Yes, sir, if you wanted to live long enough to see that child born."

"Is it really that tough?"

"You know it is, Brother Bret. You were there when Grace was born." Grace was the biological child of Louis Manning, sheriff of Claytonville, and his wife, Kitty. Louis was killed in an accident while leading a posse and Kitty died almost immediately after Grace's birth. Bret and Ginny, their best friends, became her momma and poppa, but Bret was truly uneducated in the difficulties of childbirth.

"I plead ignorance, Brother Bart. The last thing I'd ever want to do was insult a brand new mother."

"You'll find out soon enough, Pappy. And you'll wonder how on earth they do it." The brothers were riding leisurely along the trail, within a few miles of Blackwood, Texas, the next stop on their journey to San Antonio.

"Do you always do this?" Bret asked.

"Do what?"

"Go on a trip before the baby's born."

Bart smiled before answering his brother. "Yep. If I don't get away for a few days, it'll be months before I can go anywhere. Doralice and Ginny are gonna need all the help they can get once those new Maverick's is here. Best you start lookin' for a part-time cook or housekeeper to help out around the place. You're gonna need somebody with two young'uns so close together in age."

"We gonna stay overnight in Blackwood?" was Bret's next question.

"Might as well. Got free accommodations there at the Blackwood Hotel."

"Yeah? How'd you manage that?"

"Owner's a friend of mine. He had a little trouble with a card sharp some years back, and I helped him out. All I gotta do is show up and there's a room waitin' for me. So I sent him a wire yesterday."

Bret shook his head. His brother never ceased to amaze him – there were times when he doubted Bart would live long enough to grow up. Yet here Bart was, a responsible husband and father and a respected businessman and poker player, and it was him that was teaching Bret how to be all those things. "When did you get to be such an adult, little brother?"'

Bart laughed. "You know all that time you and Ginny were still gallivantin' around the country, livin' over there in Claytonville and gettin' to be friends with all the locals? Well, I was doin' all the same over in Little Bend. 'Course, I had a few more things to take care of than you did . . . "

Bret sighed. He still felt guilty about some of the things Bart had to deal with by himself. Beau's permanent move to Baton Rouge, followed by Uncle Ben's leaving for Louisiana. The fire that eventually burned down 'The Mansion,' the big house they'd all lived in at one time or another. Lily Mae's moving in with her daughter and imminent departure for Houston. Life had gone on in Little Bend while Bret and Ginny alternated between traveling the country for Pinkerton or poker.

"Some of that couldn't be helped, you know," Bret reminded his brother. "You were the one that put down roots and more-or-less stayed in one spot."

"Didn't have much choice in the matter. Maude got sick and the babies started comin', and then Cristian got killed in that bank robbery . . . "

"I know, Bart, I remember it all. Sometimes I didn't find out somethin' had happened until long after it was over. And by that time, what was I gonna do?"

Bart shook his head. "Doesn't matter now, that's all over and done with. And you're back here to stay." He paused, looking directly at his brother. "You are back here to stay, aren't you?"

"Yeah, we're back here to stay. I can't imagine us raisin' Grace and the baby anywhere but here."

They rode on a few miles further before Bart brought up another topic he'd been waiting to discuss. "You get a chance to look at the plans for the new barn?"

"I did, but I was hopin' we could talk about that at supper, if that's alright with you."

"Sure. We should be there in just a little while."

Less than twenty minutes later they were checked in to the hotel and on their way to the dining room. Bart's friend John Dunwood had left word that he'd be in later to ensure they had everything they needed and meet the long 'Elusive Brother Bret,' and Bart had been laughing about it ever since. "That's how most everybody knows you, the Elusive Brother Bret. They been listenin' to me talk about you for so long they just figure you're a figment of my imagination."

Bret reached over and laid a hand on his brother's arm just as the waitress arrived to take their order. "What's the special tonight? And bring us two of them. Plus coffee."

"It's pot roast and potatoes, fresh biscuits and apple pie. Just coffee to drink?" the pretty redhead asked. She smiled at the gentlemen, good looking and obviously related, and scampered off to turn in their order.

"Now, about that barn . . ." Bart started.

"Yeah, the barn. Just how much do you figure the barn's gonna cost us?"

"About what we discussed before. Why, is there a problem?"

Bret was really hoping to avoid any talks involving money until they'd returned from San Antonio, but he could see that wasn't going to happen. "Yeah, Bart there's a problem. I been holdin' off tellin' you this until we could play some poker in San Antone. Ever since we moved back to Little Bend, there hasn't been enough money to keep the Denver Regional Office of Pinkerton open at full staff. So Ginny quit takin' a salary. We been livin' off what I could bring in playin' poker. And since I won't take money away from my brother and his wife . . . there hasn't been much comin' in from the other two saloons in town. I had just enough left to have a decent stake for this trip. I can't afford my share of the new barn right now, Bart. This half of the Maverick family is broke."


	3. Brothers

Chapter 3 – Brothers

"Broke?"

Bret bowed his head and blew out a breath. "Yep. Dirt-poor broke. Got just enough to get me started in San Antone, and after that it's up to me and the cards."

Bart looked absolutely bewildered. "But you never said . . . you should have . . . why didn't you tell me before it got to this?"

"I wanted to. I even tried once or twice, but I just couldn't. Everybody seemed so happy . . . and we were gettin' along so well. I couldn't . . . I just couldn't destroy all that."

"Does Ginny know?"

Bret shook his head. "No. I was gonna hafta tell her . . . when we came back. Dependin' on what happened at the poker tables. Then, if nothin' else turned up . . . I could always sell Goodnight."

Goodnight was the black stallion Bret brought with him when they moved from Claytonville. He was one of the backbones that the brothers were going to use to build their herd. Bart knew what Goodnight meant to his brother, and to their future plans. Things must be as bad as Bret said, if he had contemplated selling Goodnight.

"We didn't have to take this trip, Pappy. But I can see why you'd want to. As for the barn . . . I've got more than enough to pay for it. Or we can put it off until after the babies are born . . . too much goin' on right now, or somethin' like that. You helped me my whole life, Bret. You gotta let me help you now."

Before Bret could say anything, the redheaded waitress returned with their dinner and the coffee pot, and for a few minutes everything was quiet at the table. Bart took a swallow of coffee, and when he set his cup back down his brother was smiling at him. "And that's just why I didn't tell you before. You gotta let me try to work this out on my own, Bart. At least until I can play some poker and see . . . if Bret Maverick still knows how to get himself outta trouble. And if I don't, or I can't, we'll see what works best. Is that alright with you?"

Bart smiled and nodded. Sounded like old times to him. With an older brother who seemed a lot more reasonable, and a younger brother who seemed less headstrong. They'd gotten over their first hurdle.

XXXXXXXX

John Dunwood was a delightful fellow, and couldn't sing Bart's praises high enough. A little older and a little shorter than the brothers, he had wavy brown hair that he wore fairly long and the oddest color eyes Bret had ever seen – somewhere between grass green and muddy brown. That was one of the first things that Bret noticed – they seemed to change color with Dunwood's mood. And he had a grip like iron.

"So this is the Elusive Brother Bret, eh?" he laughed as they shook hands. "Weren't none of us believed you were real. Bart'd come through with one wild tale or another and we all wondered what it'd be like to have a relative that led a life so crazy and free."

"Probably half those stories he told you were about him," Bret explained. "He wasn't always so settled down as he is now."

"Oh, he can still be a force to be reckoned with. He saved me and the saloon from a card sharp woulda taken me for everything – the man was that good. Done me two or three other big favors, too. It just amazes me how quick he can spot a cheat."

"Stop it, John. Enough praise or I'll get a big head. You know how I feel about card sharps tryin' to cheat a man runs an honest place." Bart was blushing, just like he did when they were kids, and Bret knew better than to point it out.

"Yeah, he was always good at helpin' the little guy – especially when the little guy was him."

The three men were walking through the Blackwood Hotel Saloon, admiring the expansion that had just been completed. Bart stood still for a minute, watching a particular Faro dealer, and then leaned over and whispered something to Dunwood. John nodded and called over another dealer, who replaced the Faro man. The three men continued on their tour, while the original Faro dealer gathered his hat and coat and left the saloon.

"Sometimes they're just too obvious," Bart stated as they got to the stairs that led back to the hotel rooms. He turned to his brother. "You gonna look for a poker game?"

"Nope, not tonight. I'll save it for San Antone. How about you?"

Bart smiled. "Four kids and one on the way. A whole night's sleep is the biggest luxury I need right now. Breakfast at eight, John?"

"Sounds good to me, Bart. Bret, can you join us?"

"Sure, John. In the dining room at eight o'clock?"

They shook hands all around and Bret followed his brother up the stairs. "Good man, Brother Bart. I assume the Faro dealer was crooked?"

"He was. They're easy to spot when they're that clumsy." He chuckled under his breath. "I guess I've just spent too many years lookin' for 'em at Maude's. They stick out right away." Bart started to enter his room before turning back to Bret. "The last table in the right corner tomorrow. That's where I always meet John. I'm glad you're gonna join us." He gave his brother a bear hug. "Good night, Bret. Don't worry about poker in San Antone. We'll clean 'em out."

Bret caught the 'we' and smiled. Good old Brother Bart, always ready to help. How did he get so lucky in the brother department? _'Thanks, momma, pappy,'_ he thought to himself as he crossed into his room. _'You did real good with that one.'_


	4. Lean on Me

Chapter 4 – Lean on Me

' _A lot different than just a few years ago,_ ' Bret thought as he made his way down the staircase towards the dining room _. 'This would have been the middle of the night.'_

It was almost eight o'clock and he could see into the rear corner of the room, where Bart and John were engaged in animated conversation and coffee drinking. He smiled to himself, already feeling lighter since he'd divulged his dark monetary secrets to his brother. Bart was right, it was time he quit carrying the world on his shoulders and accepted some help. Especially from his brother.

"Good mornin', you troublemakers," he greeted the two men as he approached the table. "Hope you ordered plenty of . . ."

"Bacon," Bart finished. "Nope. We were waitin' for you."

"It's a standing joke," Bret explained. "An OLD standing joke."

"Then the old standing jokester needs to sit his butt down so we can order breakfast," demanded his brother.

As if on cue, one of the morning waitresses appeared with a pot of coffee. "Good mornin', gents. Everybody want coffee?" she asked, and all three heads nodded. She had just finished pouring the requested black liquid when last night's ex-Faro dealer appeared at the doorway to the dining room. With a gun in his hand.

"You no-good bastards," he muttered, and took aim somewhere between Bart and Dunwood. Neither was armed, and Bret couldn't take any chances. He pushed Bart out of the way and pulled his gun, firing just as the ex-employee pulled the trigger. Bret's bullet caught the man in the shoulder, but the Faro dealer's shot went wild and ended up shattering Bret's left wrist. He howled in pain and dropped the Remington, which Bart quickly retrieved and pointed in the card dealer's direction.

"Put it down now, mister," the younger Maverick demanded. "Bret, how bad is it?"

"Bad enough. Somebody get the doc, huh?" Bret pleaded as Dunwood wrapped a napkin tightly around his wrist. The dismal outcome of the misplaced bullet wasn't lost on him; there would be no poker playing in San Antonio. He sucked in big mouthfuls of air and tried desperately to keep from squeezing tears out from behind his eyes. Bart passed the gun to John and grabbed Bret's right arm, hustling him out of the hotel and down the street to the doctor's office.

By the time he got Bret into Doc Wiley's there was so much blood it was impossible to see anything other than red. Bret was trying not to moan and whimper, but the pain was so intense he couldn't do much else. "Sit still there, son," the doctor ordered, and then wrapped the wrist in a clean towel to absorb some of the blood. "Can he take laudanum?" Wiley questioned Bart, who nodded quickly.

Within two minutes of drinking practically a quarter of a bottle, Bret was no longer thrashing about wildly. There was still a powerful amount of pain, but he was able to hold his arm still enough for the doctor to unwrap the towel and get a good look at the wrist. There was no doubt, holding a baby or a gun or even anything as heavy as five cards was going to be impossible for a while.

"How bad does it look, Doc?" the injured man asked between clenched teeth.

"Oh, I've seen worse," Wiley answered. "Who shot you?"

"Finnegan Wells," the sheriff supplied the name as he came through the door. "Ex-Faro dealer at Blackwood Saloon. He was tryin' to shoot John Dunwood and this man's brother, Bart Maverick. They were unarmed. You are Bret Maverick, aren't you?"

"He is," Bart answered for him. "What about Wells?"

"Already in custody," came back from the sheriff. "Anybody else hurt?"

"No," Bart supplied the answer again. He turned to look at the doctor. "Any bullet in there? Can you set it?"

"Nope, no bullet. Your brother's lucky. Five or six weeks and he'll be as good as new."

Bart thought about the poker games that Bret had been looking forward to, a chance to get him and Ginny back on the black side of the ledger, when he heard his name. "Bart . . ."

Bart patted his brother on the shoulder and tried to smile. "Don't worry, we'll think of somethin'. You just let that medicine take hold of you, so Doc can get you set and bandaged without too much pain, you hear? I'll be right here with you."

"You come down and see me when this is all over?" The sheriff asked.

"I will," Bart promised. "Doc, is he out yet?"

Doctor Wiley answered in the affirmative. "You stay here just in case he wakes up, will you? I might need some help getting the wrist lined up properly."

"Make sure you do it right, Doc. He's a professional poker player."

"I will, Mr. Maverick, I will."

XXXXXXXX

It took almost three hours before the doctor was satisfied, but he was smiling when he finished. "Like I told you before, your brother's a lucky man. If that bullet had been just a little off one way or the other, or it hadn't gone clean through, he could have ended up with a crippled wrist."

Bart let out a breath and said a silent prayer. "Can I see him?" Once the doctor was satisfied with the wrist alignment, he'd insisted that Bart wait in his office for the surgery to be finished. For once the younger brother hadn't argued.

"He's probably still unconscious. But go on in. I'll be there in a few minutes."

Bart went back to the surgical room and watched his brother. How many times had he stood over an exam table and waited to see those coal black eyes open? And how many times had Bret done the same for him? Bart shook his head; he never expected things like this to still be happening. And it was all his fault. If he'd just skipped showing off last night when he saw the dealer cheating – or waited until later to tell John about it – none of this would have happened. Now what were they going to do? Bret's insistence that he needed to know if he could still extract himself from his own mess was shattered, right along with his wrist. And there was nothing to be done about getting one-half of the Maverick family back on track financially. . .

Or was there?


	5. Mirror Image

Chapter 5 – Mirror Image

By the time Bret opened his eyes, Bart had a plan formulated. Big brother would stay in Blackwood for a few days while his wrist healed, and Bart would ride on to San Antonio and play poker in Bret's stead. Bart explained the plan to Bret and anticipated immediate acceptance, but that's not at all what he got.

"That don't solve my problem," Bret murmured.

"Sure it does."

"Not . . . so much."

"Because you ain't the one playin' poker?"

"That's . . . it."

"But I'm the one that got us into this mess to begin with."

There was a tone of amusement in Bret's voice as he asked the question. "How?"

"By showin' off. If I hadn't pointed Wells out to John . . . "

"Not . . . your fault."

Bart didn't say anything for a minute. There was no use arguing when Bret had his mind made up to something, even after all these years. "You got any other ideas?"

"Go home and take my medicine . . . like a good boy."

"Your wife doesn't need to hear all this."

Bret let out with a short, sad laugh. "Ginny's gonna have a . . . fit."

"She'll get over it." _'Especially if we have a solution,'_ Bart thought.

"Made me promise . . . these days were over."

"Good. Then she can blame it on me."

Doctor Wiley appeared at the door just then. "Mr. Maverick, your brother needs rest."

Bart leaned over Bret and whispered something, then said, "I'm goin' down to talk to the sheriff."

"Hmpfh. Not sleepin' here, huh?"

"Bret, it's the middle of the day. You need the rest, I don't. Besides, my back won't let me sleep like that anymore." Bart turned back to the doctor. "How long does he have to stay here, Doc?"

"Since it's just his wrist . . . you can take him back to the hotel tomorrow morning."

"How long before he can ride?"

"Three or four days . . . as long as he doesn't use that hand."

"Bart . . . "

"What do you need, Bret?"

"Don't make . . . any plans . . . "

No matter how old they were, nothing seemed to change. Bret was still trying to be the big brother, even when it was him that needed the help. The best thing Bart could do right now was . . . not argue. "I'll be back. You get some sleep."

"No . . . plans."

"Yes, Pappy."

XXXXXXXX

Sheriff Chester Jackson had lived in Blackwood long enough to know and respect John Dunwood as an honest, hard-working man. John's detailed account of this morning's shootings was all he needed to write a report, but it was always good to have more than one version of events, especially when one was hoping to take the next step up the ladder and be appointed marshal. So he'd asked Bart Maverick to come to the office when possible and was pleased when the man actually appeared later that day.

"Come in, Mr. Maverick, and have a seat."

The gambler stifled a chuckle as they shook hands. Too many times he'd been thrown in jail or forcibly ejected from towns just because of his life-long profession, and it amused him to be treated like a respected citizen. "Sorry it took so long to get here, sheriff, but I wanted to stay until my brother was taken care of."

"How is he?" Jackson asked.

"As the doctor keeps tellin' me, he's a lucky man. The wrist should heal up just fine. I take it you'd like me to give a statement of what happened?"

"If you would, please. I've got a fresh pot of coffee over there, would you like a cup?"

Bart nodded. That was one thing that had never changed over the years, his love for coffee. He watched the sheriff retrieve two cups and the current prisoner in the last cell caught his eye – Finnegan Wells, the man that had turned Bret and Bart's plans upside down. "What's he been charged with?" Bart inquired.

"Two counts of attempted murder," the sheriff answered as he arrived back at his desk. "Sent a wire for the circuit judge, he'll be here next Thursday. Any chance you or your brother could be here for the trial?"

Bart took a swallow of coffee while he pondered the question. If he went to San Antone to play poker for three days, then came back to pick up Bret and testify at the trial . . . maybe he could convince his brother that was the right thing to do.

"Maybe, sheriff. I'll let you know. Now, about that statement . . . "

XXXXXXXX

When Bart left the sheriff's office he went back to the hotel. John was in his office and was somewhere between happy to see Bart and sorry the whole incident had occurred. "If you knew how bad I felt . . . "

The gambler shook his head. "Can't feel any worse than me," Bart assured him. "But I got a favor to ask you, John."

"Anything, Bart. Whatever I can do."

"How about a room for Bret while I go to San Antone, like originally planned?"

"No problem. You comin' back for the trial?"

"That's the plan. Since Bret can't ride, I could leave him here and be back in time to testify. That way I can do what we set out to do in San Antonio and know that he's taken care of."

"Sure, anything you need. I owe you big time for this one, anyway. Your brother saved my life."

"And mine. There's some situation needs to be taken care of down there, and this would let me. Now all I have to do is convince Brother Bret it's the right thing for everybody and we're in business."

"How's he doin'? Doc Wiley get everything squared away?"

"He did. I'm goin' back there for a while to check in, and we'll see how much trouble Big Brother gives me."

Dunwood shook his head. "He sure lives up to everything you said about him. The good and the . . . "

"Pain in the butt part? Yep, he does. And the older he gets, the more like Pappy he gets. Not that that's a bad thing, mind you. Just a stubborn thing. Listen, thanks for the room, John. I'll let you know if I can persuade Bret to stay here. See you later."

John stood up and they shook hands, then remained standing while he watched his friend leave. _'Bart has no idea how very different they are. And how very much alike.'_


	6. Easy Mark

Chapter 6 – Easy Mark

"Hey. You're back."

Bart chuckled. "I been back for a couple hours. You've been asleep."

"I have? That long?"

"You don't believe me? I can call Doc in here to verify it."

"No, no. I believe you. What kinda trouble . . . did you get into while you were gone?"

"Oh, not much."

"Bart? I know that . . . tone of voice."

A shrug of the shoulders and Bart knew he was gonna have to explain everything. "Circuit judge's comin' on Thursday. He wants us to testify at the trial the next day. You're gonna stay here while I go to San Antone and play poker. Then when I come back we'll make the judge happy and head back to Little Bend."

"Why's the judge want testimony? What's Wells charged with?"

"Two counts of attempted murder. The law in this town wants him sent away for a long time."

There was silence for a moment before Bret realized what Bart had said about San Antone. "I thought we agreed on no plans."

"You agreed on no plans. I didn't. John's gonna put you up at the hotel while I'm gone, so it won't cost us anything. I'll take your poker money and do my best with it."

"Bart . . . "

The younger brother got up from his chair and paced the room. "No, Bret. For once we're gonna do this my way. If we hadn't stopped here and stayed the night . . . if I hadn't been such a show-off. You might have gotten yourself into the situation you're in, but I've done nothin' to help you get out. And for once you have to let me. There's brand new babies comin' in just a few weeks, and they ain't gonna listen to how broke Uncle Bret is. So just be still and let me do this."

A minute of silence went by, then two. Finally the older brother said something. "Under one condition."

"Which is?"

"We take the stage to San Antone and I go with you."

Without even thinking what it might be like with Bret watching over his shoulder, Bart replied. "If that's the only way you'll agree to this, then that's the way we'll go. I'll find out what time the stage leaves tomorrow. "

' _That was easier than I thought,'_ each of the brothers realized.

XXXXXXXX

Doctor Wiley released Bret the next morning at seven o'clock, with some medicinal salve, a whole box of bandages, and an extra bottle of laudanum, just in case. "Change that bandage every day," he instructed Bart, "and make sure he doesn't try and use the wrist."

"Got it, Doc. And thanks for everything."

"When you get back to Blackwood, the first place I want you to come is here. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Bret answered. He picked up his bag with the right hand and followed Bart out the door of the office. "Not where I expected to be," he told his brother, "but better than sittin' in the hotel for three or four days."

"Let's hope you still feel that way when we come back." Bart handed their bags to the coach driver and then helped Bret get inside. "Just remember, you can't do a thing with that hand. We ain't takin' no more chances than we already took."

"Agreed."

They were in San Antonio by nightfall, and both of them were thankful. Bret couldn't do anything one-handed, which meant they couldn't even play Maverick Solitaire, and they were ready for a hot meal and no more bouncing around on the dirt road. Once they were checked into the San Antonio Palace they headed straight for the dining room, and were soon enjoying a late supper.

"You got a plan?" Bret asked as he dug into the piece of cherry pie that sat, half-finished, in front of him.

"You think I forgot how to play poker?"

"No, I just wondered if you had a plan."

"I'm goin' out to see what's on the floor tonight. In the mornin' I'll send a telegram to the ladies – let 'em know we got here safe."

"Are you gonna say anything?" Bret held up his left hand.

"Nope." Bart followed up with a shake of the head. "No sense worryin' them before we have to. Besides, there's nothin' they can do."

Bret finished his pie and watched his brother. He hadn't seen Bart anything but calm and relaxed when it came to poker in years, but now Bart seemed anxious and on edge. He'd assumed a lot of responsibility by playing for Bret, and the last thing he wanted to do was let his brother down.

"You okay?" Bret pointed to Bart's fingers, which were absentmindedly drumming on the table.

"Huh? Oh, sure. Just thinkin', that's all. Ready to go?"

Maybe it would be better if Bret didn't follow his brother around this first night. "I'm goin' out for a cigar," Bret announced, "and then to bed. I'll see you for breakfast."

Bart looked relieved. "If that's what you want."

"Yep, it is. I'm worn out. Goodnight, Brother Bart."

"Goodnight, Bret."

Bart watched his brother walk across the dining room and head for the front door of the hotel, before letting his breath out. He was more at ease now that he could play this first night without Bret behind him every step of the way. He'd assumed a lot of responsibility, willingly, of course, and he was grateful for a chance to get settled without Bret's imposing physical presence watching over him.

He was more at ease several hours later, when the cards continued to fall his way. It felt good to be playing the game he loved without the 'restraints' of competing in the family saloon. It felt even better to be helping Bret for a change, rather than the other way around.

By five in the morning the game had broken up; Bart was pleased with the amount of money he tucked into his wallet. Once he'd gotten to the room the brothers were sharing, he counted the winnings he'd set aside. The total so far was a little over six hundred dollars. If he could continue down that road . . .

Downstairs at the bar, a tall brunette named Smokey was recapping what she'd seen to a cowboy named Max Riley. "Good lookin' gent, dressed well but not flashy. Dark hair streaked with silver. In his forties, I'd say. Knew how to handle himself at a poker table. Just what we been lookin' for."

"Alone?" Riley asked.

"Looked like it."

"Is he still here?"

Smokey shook her head. "Went upstairs."

"Heeled?"

"I couldn't tell."

"Sounds possible. Let's see if he turns up tomorrow. Gimme a kiss, baby. I gotta go."

The brunette wrapped herself around Max and smiled. He sure did know how to kiss. "Tomorrow, Max."

"Tomorrow, Smokey."

Riley walked out of the saloon whistling. Maybe this time they had found the right mark.


	7. Trouble

Chapter 7 – Trouble

"Hey, you awake?"

"Unfortunately. You need somethin'?"

"Coffee. And breakfast."

"I know somethin' else you need."

"What's that?"

"Clothes."

"That would help, wouldn't it?"

"If you expect me to get you down to the dining room for breakfast, yeah." Bart sat up in bed and asked his brother one more question. "When did you quit snorin'?"

"Snorin'? I never snored. That was your imagination."

"Oh, no. That was not my imaginations. I spent too many nights in the same bed with you."

"Ginny never complained."

Bart guffawed. "Ginny is your wife. She gets benefits I don't want."

Bret reached over and pushed Bart out of bed with his right hand. "Get up so you can help me dress."

"I'm up, I'm up."

It took almost an hour to get the two of them cleaned and dressed. "We can eat and then go to the barber," Bart explained. "I'm not shavin' you . . . I might accidentally cut your throat."

"I don't trust you anyway."

Breakfast was an easier meal to navigate than supper. Most breakfast foods only required one hand to consume, and when they'd had their fill, the next stop was the barber shop. As they left the hotel, Smokey came out of the saloon and stopped at the front desk. "Hey, Eddie," she just about purred to the clerk. "Who's them two gents just left here?"

"Why, Smokey? You lookin' for a new beau to take care of you?"

"Eddie, Eddie, Eddie," she leaned over the registration counter and ran her fingers under the clerk's chin. "You know you're the only man for me."

"Aw, Smokey . . . "

"Who are they, Eddie?"

Eddie sighed. There was no resisting Smokey when she got like this. "Maverick. Bart and Bret. Came in on the Blackwood stage. Checked in for three, maybe four days. Anything else?"

The brunette smiled. "Wives? Girlfriends?"

"No women, Smokey. What are you up to?"

"Nothin', Eddie. Absolutely nothin'." Smokey blew the clerk a kiss and sashayed back into the saloon.

"Maybe I oughtta warn them two," Eddie murmured to himself. "Naw, keep your nose outta other people's business."

XXXXXXXX

"I gotta get some sleep," Bart reminded his brother. "I wanna be awake this afternoon. There's a private game over at the Gaslight around four, and Dunwood got me an invite. Can you find somethin' to do? I can't get you into this one."

"Sure, I can keep myself occupied." Bret didn't have the faintest idea what he would do, but he had made this bargain, that he would accompany Bart to San Antonio, so he wasn't about to complain.

"Without tryin' to play cards?"

"Without tryin' to play cards."

"Alright, I'm goin' upstairs. I'll see you for supper around ten, in the dining room."

"Bart?" Bret reached out with his right hand and grabbed his brother's arm. "Thanks."

"Just wish me luck."

"You don't need luck."

Bret stood at the bottom of the steps and watched as Bart climbed them and disappeared. The older brother turned and walked into the saloon, stopping at the bar for a cup of coffee. He'd finished about half of it when he realized there was a very female presence standing at his left elbow and staring at his wrist. "Is it painful?"

He looked at the tall brunette and smiled. "Sometimes."

"Gun shot?"

"Yes, it was."

"Here in San Antone?"

"Nope. Blackwood."

She touched the bandaged wrist gently with her finger. "You have business here?"

He had no idea where she was going with her questions, or why she was even asking him. He entertained no interest in her at all, but he was bored and there was nothing better to do, so he kept drinking coffee and answering her questions. "Sort of."

"You all alone?"

It was the first thing she'd asked him that gave him pause. "No. And I ain't lookin' for company."

"Not even just to talk to?"

She had a point. What could it hurt just to talk? The girl was a good looking brunette, the kind that Bret might have taken an interest in had the years not passed, had there been no Ginny Malone, had he not been crazy in love with his wife and daughter. "Talk. Nothing more."

"Understood." She tossed her curls and stuck her hand out. "My name's Smokey. What's yours?"

"Bret. Bret Joseph." _'Old habits die hard,'_ he thought as he shook hands with her.

' _Careful man,'_ she realized. "Buy me a cup of coffee?"

"Sure, Smokey. Bartender, another coffee?"

She picked up the cup when it was full. "Wanna go sit down?"

He shrugged. He certainly couldn't get into any trouble just by sitting down with a cup of coffee, could he? So he followed her, to a table further in the back of the saloon, and pulled out a chair for her.

She smiled at him again; she was a pretty girl, almost young enough to be his daughter. What was he doing here with her? For just a moment he forgot, then he looked down at his bandaged left wrist and remembered – and felt totally useless. He should be playing poker, doing his best to win the money he needed to make a go of the horse breeding business he'd begun with Bart. Instead he was trying to stay out of his brother's way, allowing someone else to dig him out of the financial hole he'd allowed himself to get into.

"Somethin' wrong?" she asked.

"What? No, nothin's wrong."

She laid her hand gently on his wrist again. "Does it have to do with this?"

"No." He paused. "Yes. It's stoppin' me from doin' what I need to be doin'."

"And that's upsetting?" Her tone was sincere, her look genuine; he'd run into so many con woman just like her before, but this time was different. He was older and injured; he'd had a plan in place to fix things, and with one stray bullet that plan had been destroyed. Instead of being in control of everything he was in control of nothing, and he didn't like being at someone else's mercy, even if that someone was his brother.

"Well, it's ruined all my plans for the day."

He reached into his pocket for a cigar but came up empty. Now, on top of everything else, he had nothing to smoke. There were cigars in the room; he'd just go up . . . the room where Bart was asleep. Where no matter how quiet he tried to be, he was sure to make just enough noise to wake Bart up. That wouldn't work.

"A day with no plans? Why, that's wonderful. Now you can make new plans with me. I've nothin' to do today, either."

She could see him hesitate; watched him as he weighed his options. Had she sprung the trap too soon? The timing was so perfect, she might not get another opportunity just like it. Then, for some reason, he decided in her favor. "Alright, Smokey, I need to go get some cigars. Is there a tobacco store around here somewhere?"

"Up the street, about three blocks."

He stood and offered her his right arm, which she accepted. "Shall we go?"

XXXXXXXX

The store was a little further than three blocks, but Bret didn't mind. Smokey was charming and funny, and she helped take his mind off everything that was bothering him. Once he'd refreshed his supply of smokes they kept on walking, stopping to look in shop windows and wander up the streets. She was pleasant company, and she leaned on his arm and laughed at his jokes. Little by little he stopped feeling old and tired, and began to feel like he had years ago.

Without Bret's knowledge, they were being discretely followed. Max Riley was keeping a close eye on them, making sure they didn't see him. This must be the brother that she'd hooked up with; he didn't quite fit the description of the man she'd seen last night. It didn't really matter which of the Mavericks they used; both were fashionably dressed and appeared to be wealthy. One would be just as easy to hold for ransom as the other.

By the time they'd walked from one end of town to the other it was time for lunch. Bret knew he should probably part company with the girl, but he was enjoying himself and had nothing better to do. Besides, he hated eating alone. They'd passed a charming little Mexican café on the way north, and now on the way back south they stopped for their mid-day meal. Bret even ordered a glass of tequila, and Smokey joined him in one.

"You seem to be in a better mood than you were earlier," she remarked, and he had to agree with her.

"I think it has a lot to do with the company. You've made this into a most pleasant day." They were just about to walk past the livery, and he was in no hurry to see the day come to an end. Besides, she was right in the middle of telling him about her childhood, including her seven brothers and sisters. "Let's see, there's Emilie and Susie, Billy and Oliver, Sunshine and Timmy, and . . . " He looked momentarily frustrated. "Drat, I can't remember the last one's name. Why don't we get a buggy and drive out into the country, then you can remind me about . . . "

"Phil," she replied. "Do you really want to? I can drive," as she pointed to his wrist.

"I do want to, Smokey. I think it's a splendid idea. Here – let's see what we can do about renting one."

In less than fifteen minutes they were in the buggy with Smokey driving, heading southeast out of town towards Calaveras Lake. There they found a shady spot and spread a blanket, and Bret spent the rest of the afternoon telling the girl tales that involved Bart, Uncle Ben and Pappy, and the big house they all lived in known as 'the Mansion.' The place sounded luxurious and gigantic, and Smokey was sure she'd picked the right man this time. Within a short period of time she and Max would be headed towards San Francisco, with enough money to keep them happy for a long, long time. She didn't think about what Max would have to do to this charming man she'd spent the day with in order to get that money.


	8. Disappearing Act

Chapter 8 – Disappearing Act

"Full house, gentlemen. Kings over fours." Bart smiled as he laid down his hand, the last one of the night, and another winner. There was some good natured grumbling among the five men still in the game, but it had been an enjoyable evening and all were feeling good. Especially the man that had just won the last pot.

They'd agreed to play until ten o'clock and it was just a little past that now. "Well, Maverick, the next time Dunwood recommends somebody to our game we'll know better," Jim Manchester laughed as he slapped Bart on the back. The better part of the day had been spent in a private room at the Gaslight Saloon, and when the game broke up most of the winnings went into Bart's wallet.

"I enjoyed it myself, Jim. Especially the winning part." It was a satisfied feeling, knowing that he'd played with the best the town of San Antonio had to offer, and that he'd beaten them all soundly. And quite substantially.

It was a short walk back to his hotel, and it gave Bart time to think. After today, Bret's financial problems should be solved. Now if he could just convince his brother that there was no shame in needing help, especially in light of the circumstances, and that he would always be glad to lend a hand. Bret had certainly helped him out of enough tight spots, and just because you were the oldest didn't mean you had to be perfect.

Bart chuckled a little to himself – they'd both shown over the years that there was no such thing in the Maverick family as perfect. He went directly to the dining room at the San Antonio Hotel and was surprised to find no brother waiting for him. Bart ran straight up to their room and found it empty. There was no sign that Bret had been there at all, and he was just about to leave and return to the saloon when there was a knock on the door. "Message for Mr. Maverick," called a voice, and Bart opened the door to find the night clerk standing outside.

"A young lady left this for you, Mr. Maverick," the clerk explained as he handed Bart a note.

"A young lady, you say? Do you know who this young lady was?"

"No sir, I wasn't here when it was delivered. And the day clerk didn't say who brought it, just a young lady."

Bart gave the clerk a coin and closed the door behind him. What in the world was Bret doing with 'a young lady?' He sat on the bed before opening the folded paper, and it was a good thing he did. _'Mr. Maverick – We have your brother. If you wish to see him alive again and unharmed, you will bring twenty thousand dollars to the Chateau Lamont at midnight. Sit in the third chair from the left, just inside the door, and come unarmed. If you bring the police you will never see your brother again.'_

What kind of a joke was this? If this was Bret's idea, it wasn't funny. But if it wasn't . . . what was somebody doing with his brother? And where was he supposed to get twenty thousand dollars? And just who was the young lady?

Bart hurried back downstairs, into the saloon. He walked the entire floor looking for any sign of Bret, but couldn't find any. Finally he stopped at the bar to ask the bartender some questions. "My brother was supposed to meet me and I can't find him. Are there any of the girls that aren't here tonight?"

The bartender glanced around the saloon while he poured Bart a shot, which the gambler ignored. "Let's see, there's Sally and Cindy Jo and Myra; Dolly's in the back gettin' supplies and Tammy Fays at dinner. That's all . . . no wait, Smokey. Smokey's not here."

"She got a last name?" Bart asked as he paid for the drink.

"Burgess. Smokey Burgess."

The bartender said nothing further, and Bart laid more money on the bar. "What does she look like? And where does she live?"

"Hmmm. Tall, brunette, good-looking girl. Lives over on Cherry Street. Mrs. Caldwell's Rooming House. Got a sign out front."

"Thanks," Bart replied, and hurried out of the saloon. He stopped at the front desk. "How do I get to Cherry Street?" he asked the clerk. "And where's the marshal's office?"

"Go on up the street to Wilma's Dress Shop and turn left. Follow that little alley until you run into Cherry Street, then turn right. Marshal's office is down the street three blocks, on the left."

Bart hurried out the hotel doors, checking his watch as he left. Almost eleven o'clock. Had to be the marshal's office, and he headed down the street. The door was locked when he got there, and he knocked until he got an answer. "Marshal? I need to talk to you."

The man that had answered the door was younger than him, maybe early thirties, with short, dark hair and a mustache. He took one look at the well-dressed man at the door and opened it wide. "Come in, please. My name's Abbott. Jefferson Abbott. And you are?"

"Bart Maverick. I've got a brother named Bret that was with me until sometime this morning. He's missing."

"Missing, Mr. Maverick? As in just disappeared?"

Bart hurried into the office and followed Marshal Abbott to his desk, where they both sat down. "I wish it was that easy. I was supposed to meet him at the hotel at ten o'clock tonight. He wasn't there, and this was delivered to me instead." He handed the ransom note to the marshal. "I did some investigatin' before I came here. There's a dance-hall girl named Smokey Burgess that's not at the saloon tonight. I suspect she's responsible one way or another for this."

"Mr. Maverick, couldn't this be a joke? A prank I mean, and your brother's just off somewhere laughin' and drinkin' with this Smokey?"

Bart shook his head vehemently. "No, marshal, that's not possible. First of all, my brother's injured. Before we arrived in San Antonio, he was shot in the left wrist in Blackwood. Otherwise he would have been with me in a private poker game at the Gaslight Saloon all day. Second, he don't drink. Third, he's married and about to become a father for the second time. And he's crazy about his wife. He'd never go off with some random girl just for . . . just for the hell of it. Nope, this is legitimate. Why somebody would think we'd have twenty-thousand dollars, I have no idea. We're just . . . horse breeders from Little Bend, Texas. There ain't that kind of money in our family."

The marshal read over the note once again. "I can go with you to the hotel, but if this is a legitimate kidnapping they're gonna spot me so fast . . . "

Bart sighed and put his head in his hands. "And they're liable to kill him if you do."

"Wait, how do you know there's more than just the girl involved?"

"I don't. But Bret is taller than me and heavier – a woman couldn't keep watch over him and deliver the note to me at the same time."

"There's a back door to that hotel, Mr. Maverick. I can stay outside and wait to see who shows up to get the money – then follow and see where they go. That's the best I can offer."

Bart stared at the young marshal. "That'll have to do, marshal. Where's the Chateau Lamont? And how do I get there?"


	9. No-Show

Chapter 9 – No-Show

It was a few minutes to midnight when Bart got to the Chateau Lamont. He took a seat in the third chair on the left, as instructed, and waited. Time passed ever so slowly; it was twelve-fifteen, then twelve-thirty, and no one showed up. Bart sat in the chair until one o'clock in the morning and then got up and left. He walked around to the back of the marshal's office and found the lights on and the door unlocked. Abbott was at his desk.

"When did you leave?" Bart asked.

"A little past twelve-thirty. I figured whoever had him was testing you, and they weren't comin'."

Bart nodded as he slumped down into a chair. "You're right, I'm sure. What do you suggest I do?"

"Go back to your hotel room and wait. I know that ain't what you want to hear, but it's the best I got for now."

Another nod. "Yeah, that sounds like the only thing I can do. I'll let you know if I hear anything."

Bart left by the back door, the same way he'd come in. He trudged wearily up the stairs to his hotel room and unlocked the door, checking to see if there was any kind of letter or note left for him, but there was nothing. He dropped onto the bed and set his hat on the chair. Next came his coat and shoulder holster, then his waistcoat and finally, his tie. He unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt and laid back on the bed, mentally exhausted. "Where are you, Brother Bret?" he whispered.

He didn't know how long he lay there, but sometime during the night he fell asleep. He woke with a start after daylight and immediately shifted his gaze to the floor just inside his door; there was a piece of paper that hadn't been there when he fell asleep. He rolled out of bed quickly and grabbed the paper, which had been folded in half, and opened it carefully _. 'Very good, you can follow instructions. Be at the back door of the tobacco store at ten o'clock. Do not bring the money. We will appear at approximately ten-fifteen. Again, no police. Your brother says he wants to go home to Grace Louise. Don't fail him.'_

Bart's hands were shaking so badly that he dropped the note. There was no longer any doubt in his mind; whoever was sending these notes had Bret. It was the reference to Grace that convinced him. He picked up the paper and set it on the chair, then got up and washed his face. He skinned off his shirt and put on a fresh one, then grabbed his shoulder holster and a different coat, picked up the ransom note and left the room. He finished dressing on the way to the dining room, where he ordered and checked the time. It was a few minutes past seven in the morning.

He drank black coffee and fingered the note. He'd go see Jefferson Abbott and show him the latest demand, but he had someplace else to go first.

Fifteen minutes later an emotional Bart was standing in front of Mrs. Caldwell's Rooming House. It looked neat and clean and not at all like a place where Bret Maverick might be found. He knocked at the front door and was greeted by a rather plump older woman, who appeared startled to see a well-dressed gentleman standing at her front door.

"Yes, sir, can I help you?"

"Um, my name's Bart Maverick. I understand you have a young lady living here named Smokey. Smokey Burgess."

"Are you related to Smokey, sir?"

"No, ma'am. I'm lookin' for someone that was seen with her yesterday. She left a note for me and I'm tryin' to locate her."

"She's not here, Mr. Maverick. I saw her leave early yesterday morning and she's not come back."

"This is rather important, Mrs. Caldwell. Any idea where she might be, or who she might be with?"

Mrs. Caldwell shook her head. "No, I'm afraid not. She seems to spend time with a cowboy named Max Riley, but I'm not sure where he lives or works."

Bart tipped his hat. "Thank you, ma'am, for the information."

Now where? The marshal's office, it looked like. Bart pulled out his watch and checked the time – almost eight o'clock. He hurried to the marshal's office and once again entered via the back door. Jeff Abbott looked just like he had the night before. "Mr. Maverick, you heard anything more?"

Bart sat down next to Abbott's desk and pulled out the newest note. "Just this."

The marshal read it over twice and handed it back. "Grace Louise?"

"His nine-month-old daughter."

"Any other way they could have known that?"

"Nope. You know a cowboy named Max Riley?"

"Riley . . . Riley . . . Max Riley . . . maybe. Had a saddle tramp in a cell here about three weeks ago on a drunk and disorderly. Somebody bailed him out . . . a saloon girl. Tall brunette."

"Smokey Burgess."

"Yeah . . . you're right. It was Smokey. She worked at the San Antonio Palace."

"Where we've been staying."

They sat in silence for a moment before Bart said quietly, "I'm gonna do whatever they ask. Maybe they'll take less than twenty thousand dollars."

"How much do you have?"

"Maybe half that."

Abbott stood up and put his gun belt on. "You go to the tobacco store. I've got an idea."

"Which is?"

"There's an old ranch house about three miles outta town. A lot of the saddle bums that are broke stay out there. Maybe I can find out somethin' about Riley."

"Alright. I'll be back if I don't get anywhere."

"Are you heeled, Mr. Maverick?"

Bart opened his coat and showed the shoulder holster. "Yep." Then he rose from his seat and went out the back door of the office. Again.

XXXXXXXX

Riley made a fist and hit Bret. "I need somethin', fancy man. Somethin' that'll let your brother know we have you. A name, a place, somethin' real to convince him."

Bret spit out a mouthful of blood and tried to shift positions in the chair he was tied to. His left wrist was killing him, but nothing seemed to help any. He glared at Riley but said nothing. He saw Max coil that right arm back again and knew there was another blow coming, but Smokey stepped between the men and kneeled in front of Bret. "Please, please give him what he's askin' for. He won't stop until you do, and there's no sense to that. You've seen how he is. He enjoys it. Please." The last word was whispered, and Bret believed her. His head felt like it was split in two, and he was lucky his jaw wasn't broken.

The girl had a point. What was the sense in prolonging his misery, anyway? Once Riley found out Bart didn't have anywhere near twenty-thousand dollars, Bret would be nothing more than vulture bait. If he could make it a little less painful before he died . . . he almost laughed, but it would have hurt too much. He'd professed to being a coward his entire life, and here he was doing his best to be brave . . . for what? For more pain? He let out a deep sigh and surrendered. "Grace Louise," he murmured, and Riley lowered his arm.

"Thank you," Smokey whispered. This was the part of the plan she hated. She liked this man, this gentle man who seemed to want nothing more from her than her company. She hated what Riley had to do to get what they wanted. Money. Why did people that had it fight so hard to keep it? She stood and turned to face Max, and saw that gleam in his eye. "Stop," she told him. "You got what you wanted. Just stop."

He went back to the rickety table. "Come over here and finish the note. Let's get this over with."


	10. The Longest Day

Chapter 10 – The Longest Day

Bart lit another cigar and blew smoke out into the alley behind the store. It was almost ten-fifteen when he saw her, and there was no mistaking that this was the woman he'd been waiting for. Tall and slender, with long brunette curls and a hip swaying walk, she approached from the east. He watched her walk a long way and understood how a man could enjoy spending time with her. Especially a man that women had been drawn to his entire life.

"Mr. Maverick?" she asked when she got close enough to be heard.

"Where's my brother?" His voice was flat, cold, emotionless. That was the best he could manage right now.

"Someplace where you won't find him."

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

"We aren't wealthy. We breed horses for a living."

"And play poker, and own a saloon. You have money."

"I see you and Bret became acquainted. "

"He's a nice man. Easy to talk to." Bart watched her carefully. She was eighteen, nineteen at the most; the kind of flower that bloomed early and faded fast. Still, there was something soft and tender about her, something that might bring out a new daddy's protective nature.

"Is that why your boyfriend threatened to kill him?"

That question seemed to throw her. "He won't do that. All you have to do is pay and he won't do that."

Bart sighed. "All I have to do is pay. I wish it was that easy."

Smokey brightened. "But it is. You pay us, you get your brother back. You go home, we disappear."

"Really? Is that what you think?"

The girl nodded. "Sure, what else is there?"

"You left out the part where I turn over the money and your boyfriend kills us."

"No. He wouldn't do that. Once we've got the money, we're gone."

"You think so?" Bart was playing a dangerous game with this girl, hoping to gain any advantage possible. "You're just gonna go off and ride away, and leave two witnesses alive and well?"

"Well, I . . . no, you ain't gonna confuse me like that. I just came here to tell you where to bring the money. And when. And give you this." She reached out to hand him something. It was the bandage that had been on Bret's wrist. It was dirty and had small streaks of blood on it.

He took the wrapping and shoved it in his pocket. He couldn't risk his brother's life, and he knew it. He had to get Bret back, no matter the cost. He waited for Smokey's instructions.

"Meet me behind the Alhambra Saloon tonight at five o'clock. Bring the money, and I'll be there to take you to your brother. If you try anything, or the marshal shows up, he dies." She waited just a minute before she continued. "I'm serious. There won't be no second chance. You try to double-cross us . . . "

"I understand. I'll be there."

She turned then and walked away, headed back east, and he watched her go. That left him with nowhere to go but Jefferson Abbott's office, to see if the marshal had learned anything.

XXXXXXXX

Abbott looked at the piece of dirty, wadded-up bandage that Bart Maverick had just dropped on his desk and asked, "What's this?"

"The bandage that was on my brother's shattered left wrist," was the reply Bart gave. "I hope you got somethin' for us to go on, because they expect a whole lotta money at five o'clock."

The marshal pulled a Wanted Poster from the stack he was rummaging through. "Take a look at this," he urged Bart as he handed it to the gambler. It was a drawing of Max Riley, with the wording **'WANTED FOR ARMED ROBBERY, STAGE COACH HOLDUP AND MULTIPLE MURDERS. REWARD $5,000.00'** printed above and below the drawing. "There ain't no honor among thieves, I'll tell you that," Abbott told Bart. "Riley pissed off three or four of the boys out at the ranch, and they were all too eager to tell me about him, long as I left them alone. I owe 'em one."

Bart whistled. "Guess he's not such an amateur after all."

"What about you?"

"I'm supposed to meet Smokey behind the Alhambra at five o'clock, with the money. Then she's to take me to Bret."

"You know she means . . . "

"Yeah, I know," Bart interrupted. "I don't think she's willing to accept that Max don't intend to leave any livin', breathin' witnesses around. I tried to open her eyes but she wasn't havin' any of it. She's got some fairy tale in her head that I'm gonna hand over the money and they're just gonna ride off into the sunset. I doubt if she knows about your poster."

"She's got a room at Mrs. Caldwell's."

Bart nodded. "I know. She ain't been there since yesterday mornin'. Mrs. Caldwell's got no idea where she could be."

"Then let's go back to the Palace. Eddie Monroe at the front desk is crazy about her. Maybe she let somethin' slip to him."

"I'll meet you there. Just in case I'm bein' watched."

XXXXXXXX

"You been awful quiet since you come back from meetin' the other Maverick."

Smokey sat in the old rocking chair by the front door with her hands folded in her lap. It was one of the few pieces of furniture still in one piece, inside what used to be somebody's home. She'd been meeting Max out here in the old place ever since they started seeing each other. The only other person that knew about the abandoned cabin was her friend Eddie. She glanced over at Bret, who'd finally fallen asleep tied to another chair, and wondered if Max would answer her questions.

"Bart," she answered. "His name is Bart."

Max grunted, and Smokey decided to take a chance. "Max, honey, what are we gonna do when we get the money from Bart?"

"What?"

"What are we gonna do when we get the money?"

Max laughed. "We're gonna do just what we was always gonna do . . . go to San Francisco and live the good life."

"No, I mean with the Mavericks?"

"Well, we sure ain't gonna take 'em with us."

"Are you gonna . . . kill 'em?" There was a note of fear in her voice.

' _Damnit, what had that Bart been tellin' her?'_ Max wondered. She hadn't asked anything like that before. "No, honey, why would you think that? We'll just leave 'em tied up and ride on outta here. By the time anybody finds 'em we'll be long gone."

"Really? You ain't gonna kill 'em?"

He strolled over to the rocking chair and bent down to kiss her. "No, Smokey, I ain't gonna kill 'em." She smiled up at him. "I promise."

"Good," she nodded. "Good."

Bret kept his eyes closed; let them think him asleep. There was no doubt in his mind that he and Bart would be left 'tied up' for others to find – tied up and dead. He'd gotten the impression during the time he'd spent with Smokey that she was a bright girl – but nobody with half a brain would believe Max's lies about leaving the Mavericks alive. All he could hope was that Brother Bart had something planned for the ransom exchange – something that involved their escape rather than their demise.

Why, oh why, had he not seen this coming? The lovely young girl interested in the older man, hanging on his every word and making him feel alive again? Stroking his ego when he felt useless, building his sense of self-worth back to where he was important to someone, even if it wasn't the right someone. It was classic, and he'd watched the pretty little things manipulate men his entire life – he just never believed it could be done to him.

' _Oh, Ginny honey, I'm so sorry, I'll never be able to tell you how dumb I feel. I walked right on into their little trap, and now it could cost me my life . . . and maybe even Bart's. I hope I live long enough to tell you what a fool I've been, and to try and make this up to you, but if I don't . . . I hope you know how much I love you.'_


	11. Killing Time

Chapter 11 – Killing Time

"Eddie, I need your help." Those were words that Eddie Monroe had never heard before, and he certainly hadn't expected to hear them now.

"Marshal?"

"I need your help, Eddie." He wasn't imagining things. Marshal Abbott had said it twice, standing right in front of him. With one of the Maverick brothers right beside him.

"What . . . what do you need, marshal?"

"Where would Smokey go if she was tryin' to hide from everybody?"

Eddie looked nervous. Now was not the time to fall apart, no matter how big a crush he had on the saloon girl. She was his friend, and he had to protect her.

"Go?"

"Disappear, vanish, hide from the world? I'm trying to save several lives here, Eddie, including Smokey's."

"Uh, why would she want to hide, marshal?"

Abbott slammed his fist down on the registration counter. "Stop tryin' to evade me, Eddie, and give me a straight answer."

Bart rested his hand on the marshal's arm. "Mind if I try?" Jeff nodded his head. He'd made Eddie nervous and he knew it. Maybe Bart would have more luck.

Maverick's voice was gentle, pleading. "Eddie, we need your help. My brother's in danger, and so is Smokey. She's gotten involved with Max Riley, and he's dragged her into trouble. We need to know where she'd go to hide out. With or without Max. You're her best friend. You know any place like that?"

Eddie nodded. "There's an old abandoned house back in the woods southwest of town. It belonged to the Washburn family until they went back to Kansas. I used to go out there to get away from the noise, and one time I took Smokey with me. She liked the place so much she kept goin' by herself, and when Max came into the picture, they just made it their place. That's the only place she could be, Mr. Maverick."

"How do we get there, Eddie?"

XXXXXXXX

The cabin was barely visible when they dismounted and tethered their horses to a tree. Neither was willing to take a chance with being seen and endangering the kidnap victims life or well-being. They'd crept to within fifty feet when the front door unexpectedly blew open and they had a clear view of the inside. Smokey sat in an old rocking chair on the north end of the room, her head lolling to one side as if she was napping. Bret was harder to see; he was off to the other end of the room. He looked beaten and drained, and was tied to the chair he was sitting in. He too appeared asleep, but his was the sleep of exhaustion rather than boredom. The only good to come of the peek inside was to bolster Bart's spirits – all in all, Bret seemed better than his brother expected. The view into the house was accidental and brief, and the door was quickly closed again.

"Alive?" Abbott whispered.

"Yeah, looks better than I thought he would."

"Stay here. I'm gonna see if there's another way in." Bart did as told, and the marshal made a full circle around the perimeter. He shook his head when he returned. "Just the one door – there's a window around back and the window in front. We gotta get to 'em once they've come outside – we've got no chance inside that house. That means it's up to you to draw 'em out – Riley's smart enough to know he needs you in there with him to control the situation."

"Alright, I got an idea. You gonna stay out here, or you comin' back to town?"

Abbott pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. Just a little after two o'clock. "Comin' in. I've got three deputies I wanna bring back out here in plenty of time to get 'em placed. Once you meet Smokey behind the Alhambra you're on your own – you gotta get Riley and your brother outside for us to have any kind of a chance. You do that . . . "

"I'll get 'em outside. Remember, Bret's left wrist was shattered by a bullet less than a week ago." He paused and took one more look at the cabin. "Ready?"

"Let's go," was the marshal's response. Bart's spirits had begun to improve; Abbott was likable enough and seemed more than competent to be in charge. Now all they needed was a little bit of luck . . .

XXXXXXXX

"Smokey." Max's voice wasn't loud, and he had to repeat himself to be heard. "Smokey."

"Huh? What?" Her head came up and her eyes opened; she was awake, although barely. "Max? What's wrong?" She sat straight up in the rocker and looked towards the man leaning against the back wall.

"It's him, Maverick. He keeps moanin' and groanin' like he's in pain or somethin'. Can you check on him? Can't have him dyin' on us before we get the ransom."

Max pushed away from the wall to stand up straight, but it was Smokey that crossed the floor to see what was wrong. She kneeled in front of the chair and called gently, "Bret." When she got no response, she laid her hand on what was visible of his left arm. "Bret." He stirred slightly and his eyes opened briefly before she heard him moan again. "What's wrong?"

"Wrist . . . hurts . . . somethin' awful. Got laudanum . . . inside my coat. Can you get . . . it?"

She reached into his coat pocket and found the bottle. "Open your eyes. Now tip your head back. That's it." The girl directed him step by step while she got the lid off. "Ready? Here we go . . . swallow . More? How's that? Feel better?" She put the lid back on and replaced the bottle in his coat pocket. He gave a sigh and some of the lines in his face eased, indicating the pain had lessened somewhat. "Did that help?"

"Yes." A few seconds later. "Smokey, why?"

She remained kneeling in front of him. "I already told you why. Seven brothers and sisters. Wasn't never gonna get nowhere with that bunch. So I got out."

"Why . . . Riley?"

"Max is . . . different. Different. He treats me good. He wants to buy me things, take me places. He makes me feel like somebody. He's a . . . a . . . "

"He's a killer."

"He's not. He's not a killer."

"Smokey, come away from him now," Max called. "He's just like his brother, gonna be tryin' to fill your head full a things ain't true. Come on over here to me." The girl got off her knees and went to Max, who encircled her waist with his left hand and pulled her close to him. "There, ain't that better now?"

She buried her face in his shoulder while he held her. "Yeah, Max, that's better."

Bret dropped his chin onto his chest. It sounded like Bart had been trying to convince her about Max's intentions, too. His attempt hadn't worked either, but at least his wrist didn't ache like it had before. Now all he could do was wait. All any of them could do was . . . wait.


	12. Knitting Lessons

Chapter 12 – Knitting Lessons

Bart counted it for the third time. Ten thousand, one hundred eighty-three dollars. No matter how many times he did that it still came up nine thousand, eight hundred and seventeen dollars short of the amount that Max had demanded. Not that it made that much difference; there was no doubt in Bart's mind that Riley intended to kill both of the Mavericks as soon as he got whatever money he could get out of them.

Sitting in the hotel room waiting for time to pass, Bart remembered an old trick that Bret had pulled once when he needed more money than he had. He folded a newspaper over several times and traced the outline of a real bill onto the paper, then cut newsprint until he had a stack as reasonably thick as ten thousand dollars would be. He sealed the newspaper money inside an envelope with the one hundred eighty-three dollars of real money on top. It made a nice, thick package. "Thanks, Brother Bret," he murmured as he tucked the envelope into his coat pocket. "I sure hope this works."

A little after four o'clock there was a knock on his door, followed by the marshal's voice. "Maverick?"

He opened the door to Jeff Abbott. "You on the way out there?"

The marshal nodded. "Yep, I've got the boys downstairs, ready to go. They all know what we're dealin' with, and what a delicate operation this is. I just wanted to wish you luck."

"Thanks, marshal. I'll see you out at the cabin." The men shook hands, and Abbott made his way down the hallway. Bart took one more look around the room and closed the door behind him, slowly following the marshal down the stairs. He stepped outside for a cigar and watched the four men ride away, praying that they would have one more with them when they rode back into town.

XXXXXXXX

"Ginny, are you alright?" Doralice asked her sister-in-law. "You've been distracted all day."

Ginny looked up from her knitting. She'd hoped that Doralice hadn't noticed the mental state she was in. At least she'd finally learned to knit, thanks to the time spent at the house in Little Bend. But that hadn't been able to allay her nerves and calm her anxieties, and after five days together she could no longer hide the mental distress she was in. She kept trying to convince herself it was all her imagination, that there was absolutely nothing wrong with Bret; that he and Bart were having a splendid time in San Antonio and would be home any day, laughing and ready for another round of fatherhood. It was obvious her attempts at ignoring her fears weren't working.

"I'm . . . fine."

Doralice looked up, the smile gone from her face. "No. Uh-uh. You're not. I know that tone of voice – I've been around Bart too many years not to. That's how the Mavericks sound when there's somethin' wrong. So tell me what it is."

"Nothing, I told you. Just nerves about the baby, that's all."

As if on cue, Grace Louise started gurgling in her crib. Ginny set down her knitting and picked up her daughter, the little girl opening her dark eyes and looking around for the man that was missing. "Pa . . . Pa . . . Pa . . . ," she babbled, and Ginny couldn't help but smile. Grace missed her daddy just as much as Ginny did.

"See, I told you. We just wish daddy was here with us, don't we?"

The beautiful blonde shook her head. "You're not foolin' me, Ginny Maverick. You're worried about him."

"Just a little."

"Why? Besides the fact that he's a Maverick."

"I don't . . . I don't know. It's something I've felt for days. Something's gone wrong, and I don't know what it is."

For the first time Doralice looked a little worried herself. "Both of them, or just Bret?"

"I wish I knew." Ginny might have been married to Bret, but she'd spent so much time working with both brothers that she sometimes had feelings about Bart, too.

"Momma, momma, momma, Breton's awake and crawling around," Beauregard, who was almost four years old, came running into the front room where his mother and aunt were talking.

"Yes, and you're supposed to be watching him," his mother scolded. "Being a tattletale is not watching him."

Beau bowed his head and his lower lip quivered. "Sorry, momma," he whimpered, and went running back into the bedroom where both he and his baby brother were assumed to be asleep.

Doralice laughed and shook her head. "Whoever said havin' this many babies was a good idea?"

"The good-looking man you married?" Ginny asked, trying to distract her sister-in-law from returning to the topic at hand.

"There's no sense worryin'," Doralice offered. "There's nothin' either of us can do about it." She got up from her rocker awkwardly, considering she was due to have baby number five in the very near future, and waddled into the other room to check on her two boys.

' _I suppose that's true,'_ Ginny thought. _'I just have to pray they're both alright.'_

XXXXXXXX

Bart dawdled and wasted as much time as he possibly could before arriving at the Alhambra Saloon back door, just a few minutes before five o'clock. He had to be certain that Abbott and his men had enough time to position themselves before he met Smokey. He still had to wait until ten past five for her to get there, approaching slowly on foot just as she had that morning.

"You got the money?" she asked.

"You got my brother?" he answered.

"I don't see the money, you don't see Bret. That was the deal."

"Here." He pulled out the ten thousand dollars and showed it to her, then put it back in his wallet.

"Is that all of it?"

Bart reached into his coat pocket and withdrew the envelope full of newsprint, cut into the appropriate shape. "Satisfied?"

She nodded her head. "Where's your horse?"

"Around the corner."

"Get him and follow me."

The gambler did as he was told. They walked up the street until they came to a small, yellow house with a horse tied out front. Smokey unhitched the horse and mounted, and they rode in silence until they reached the edge of town. Then they turned southwest and headed for the cabin.

"Where are you takin' me?"

"I'm takin' you to your brother."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

The way Smokey rode it took them almost thirty minutes to get there. Finally, Bart saw the run-down cabin but pretended not to, until the girl reacted. "We're almost there."

They rode right up to the front door; Smokey climbed down and tied her horse to the tree out front. Bart did the same. Ever so slowly the front door swung open, and for the first time in days Bart had a clear view of his brother. And then a view of the man that had kidnapped him.


	13. The Rescue Ride

Chapter 13 – The Rescue Ride

"Riley."

"Maverick."

The kidnapper stood in the doorway, gun drawn, and all Bart could see of him was an outline in the darkness. There was a kerosene lantern somewhere in the cabin casting shadows, but that was all that was visible. "Smokey, come 'ere," Max called, and stepped aside so that she could do just that. It was the first time Bart was able to catch a glimpse of the interior, and there wasn't much to see. The most important thing in the room was Bret, and he was tied to a chair that sat in the corner. He raised his head slightly as Smokey entered the room, and it took a minute for him to focus on the man standing outside the doorway. When he realized it was his brother, he smiled.

"Open your coat." Max ordered, with the Colt pointed right at Bret. Bart did as instructed and Max issued the next order. "Take the gun out and drop it."

Bart reached into his shoulder holster and removed the derringer, letting it fall to the ground.

"You got the money?" Riley asked.

"I've got it," came the answer, once again in that cold, flat tone of voice. "Untie him and get him up."

Smokey walked behind Bret and started to do just that until Max stopped her. "Not until I get the money."

"Then come get it," Bart ordered, and held out his wallet. The girl hesitated.

"Go get it, girl," Max directed, and she walked back to the door and past her boyfriend, out across the threshold and into the rapidly darkening night.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to Bart as she reached out for the money. He took a small step backwards and drew her further outside the cabin; she made a grab for the wallet and fled back in as soon as she had hold of it.

"Bring it here," Max instructed when it looked like she was headed for Bret's chair. She turned and went to Max with it, then waited to see what he wanted next. "Count it," was his instruction, and she did so. "Is it all there?"

"No," she murmured. "There's only ten thousand dollars here."

"You tryin' to cheat me?" Max asked angrily, and pulled the hammer back on the gun.

"No, Max, don't shoot him," Smokey wailed, "He's got the rest in an envelope in his coat. I saw it."

"You think I'm stupid and you can cheat me out of half the money? You want me to give you half your brother?" There was silence and Max demanded loudly, "Do you?"

"No," Bart answered, and he pulled the sealed envelope from his pocket. "Take it, it's yours."

"Bring it here."

"You want me to walk in so you can kill us both? Come get it."

"Smokey, go get . . . "

"No," Bart insisted. "Not the girl. You."

It was the first time Riley had shown any hesitation. He took a shot at Bret's boots and missed him by mere inches. "I could kill him, if you try anything."

"I know you could."

Max took a step forward, and then another. Bart inched himself backwards imperceptibly, trying desperately to draw Max as far out of the cabin as he could. Every inch gained could mean the difference between life and death. Finally, Max took the step that brought him from inside to outside, and Bart exhaled slowly and backed up one more time. "Stand still!" Max hissed, just as Marshal Abbott appeared at the outside corner of the cabin, gun drawn.

"Put the gun down, Max," Jeff Abbott demanded. "You ain't goin' nowhere but prison."

Riley, temporarily distracted by the appearance of Abbott, let out a yell and fired a wild shot at yhe marshal. Before he could get off another one, Bart jumped him and knocked him down, and the two men struggled for the weapon. The gambler was at least ten years older than the kidnapper, but it was his brother being held hostage and tied to a chair, and he was angry. They rolled around on the ground, each man swinging wildly at the other, and the gun went off a second time. This time it hit the kerosene lantern and knocked it from the wall; when the lantern crashed to the ground it burst into flames.

Riley landed a right to Bart's jaw and momentarily knocked him sideways. It gave Abbott the opening he needed, and the butt end of his gun met the back of Riley's head. Max collapsed on top of Bart, who struggled to push the kidnapper off and regain his footing. In moments the gambler was scrambling to his feet, doing everything in his power to get to his brother and untie the rope that bound him to the chair he sat in. Smokey had fled the cabin and been stopped by one of the deputies; she was babbling and crying, trying to free herself from his grasp. Bart's wallet, filled with ten thousand dollars in cash, had already been lost somewhere on the cabin floor.

"Come on," Bart cried to his brother, as he finally got Bret up on his feet. They fled the hideout and escaped just as the roof caught fire and began to collapse. Everything still inside was enveloped in smoke and flames, and when Bart got Bret outside it took long minutes to untie the older brother. When Bret was finally freed, Bart gathered his brother into his arms and wept.

"The money," Bret murmured, and Bart realized what Bret was upset over. Everything he'd fought so hard for was gone.

"I don't care, you're alive. That's all that matters. We'll work somethin' out. Whatever it takes, we're Mavericks." Bart loosed his grip on his brother's shoulders. "How's your wrist? Let me see it." He took gentle hold of Bret's wrist; it was swollen and red but there were no traces of blood on it. "Good, we're goin' straight to the doctor. Marshal, we'll come to your office as soon as the doctor gives him the okay. What are you gonna do with Smokey?"

"I don't know yet. We'll figure it all out as soon as you two get there. Denton, put the girl on a horse, then get this sack of shit on one. Tie him over one if you have to." He turned his attention back to Bart. "Is your brother right? The money's all gone?"

Bart nodded. "Yeah, every bit of it. Lost somewhere in that," and he indicated what was left of the building, the last of it in flames and smoldering rubble.

"Maverick, can you ride? If not . . ."

"I can ride," Bret nodded. "Even if Bart has to tie me on."

Within twenty minutes the two groups were ready to go. The three deputies rode surrounding a still groggy Max, handcuffed and tied to the saddle, and the girl, with the marshal bringing up the rear. Bart and Bret rode farther behind, and in just a few minutes the first group was out of sight.

Bret figured there was a lecture coming from the younger Maverick, but they were almost halfway back before Bart said anything. "Are you alright, really? Looks like your face got well acquainted with Riley's fist."

"It did. He was obnoxiously persistent when he didn't get the answers he wanted."

Silence descended on the brothers once again. Waiting for the lecture was worse than getting one, and Bret was relieved when Bart finally began. What followed wasn't a lecture, however, but almost an apology.

"I'm sorry this happened. I had more than enough money to put everything right – I cleaned those boys out at the Gaslight, but it all went up in flames at the cabin. You know you're gonna hafta come clean with Ginny – about the money, I mean. Whatever else you decide to tell her is up to you. I won't lie to Doralice, and I won't help you lie to your wife."

They rode on for a few minutes more, but Bart remained silent. "Is that it?" Bret finally asked. "I behave like a thirteen-year-old and that's all you have to say? I almost got both of us killed. You won all that money just to help me out and all I manage to do is ruin everything."

"What do you expect me to say?" Bart asked quietly. "So I won at poker. I can do it again. You're still alive and that's the most important part. Do you have any idea what it would do to me if I lost you? I thought I had once, in Dodge City, and I don't ever wanna go through that again. I'd do anything for you. Anything. Now shut up and quit worryin' about it. Let's just get you to the doctor."


	14. Going Home

Chapter 14 – Going Home

"You're a lucky man, Mr. Maverick," Doc Cawley advised Bret. "There coulda been some serious damage done to that wrist. But it looks like it's gonna be just fine, given the proper amount of time to heal."

"You have no idea how lucky, Doc," Bret explained to the man currently smiling at him.

"How'd it happen?"

"He was shot bein' a hero," Bart explained.

Bret actually blushed. "I was not."

"Saved my life, and a friend of mine's life. If that ain't bein' a hero, I don't know what is."

Doc Cawley looked at Bart. "Then I'd say you were both lucky."

"I'd have to agree with you, Doc. I'd have to agree with you."

XXXXXXXX

"Thanks for the save, marshal." Bret, Bart, and Jeff Abbott were sitting in the marshal's office drinking coffee. It was close to midnight, and the only other sound in the office was the snoring that Max Riley was making in the last cell. Smokey Burgess was spending the night locked in her room at Mrs. Caldwell's Rooming House, until the marshal could determine what charges were going to be filed against her.

"Don't thank me, Bret. It was all your brother's idea. The plan never would have worked without him."

Bret smiled. "Yeah, he's always been good for gettin' me outta a jam like that."

"The feelings mutual," Bart replied.

"What's gonna happen with our friend over there?" Bret asked.

"Oh, he'll go to Dallas for trial. After that, I would imagine there's a rope in his future. The question is, what's to be done with Smokey?"

"What can she be charged with?"

"Let's see . . . kidnapping, extortion, stupidity." Abbott said it with a smile on his face, but the sound of his voice was grim.

Bret sat lost in thought for a minute. "She really didn't kidnap me, Jeff. I went with her willingly."

Bart shot his brother a look that said a lot. "Did you, Bret?"

"Yeah, Bart, I did. Max did the kidnapping."

"And the extortion?"

"Again, all the notes came from Max. Smokey may have delivered 'em, but she never wrote 'em."

"Bret . . ."

"So technically she was the delivery method, and nothing more."

"Bret . . . "

"What about the stupidity?" The marshal finished.

Bret nodded in agreement. "I'll give you that one. And while you're at it, I'm guilty of stupidity, too. What grown man goes with a young girl because he likes the sound of her voice and he wants to kill some time?"

"Plenty, Brother Bret, plenty."

"So what you're saying is if Smokey gets prosecuted for stupidity, you should too?" Abbott asked with a smile on his face.

"Pretty much, yeah."

Bart sighed. "You see what I have to deal with?"

"Sounds like you enjoy it."

"Where do we go from here?" was Bret's next question.

"I need both of you to sign a statement that can be used at trial. After that, you're free to go."

Bret stood up and offered his hand. "Thanks, marshal. We'll be by in the morning to get those for you."

Abbott stood, too. When he and Bart shook, the marshal had one last request. "Can you give me a minute? I've got somethin' I wanna run by you."

"Sure. Bret, meet you on the boardwalk?"

Bret nodded and headed for the door. Not a word was spoken until he was outside and the door was closed. Whatever the conversation was, it was brief. Bret barely had time to light a cigar and take two or three long draws on it before Bart was outside with him. "That was short," he remarked.

"Yeah, not much at all. I'm exhausted; how about you?"

"Can't wait to put my head down on that pillow. Let's go."

XXXXXXXX

"Mmmmm. Coffee never tasted so good."

"I noticed." They were at breakfast in the dining room of the hotel. "You haven't said much since last night."

"Not much to say," Bret remarked as he ate another piece of bacon.

"What are you gonna tell Ginny?"

"The truth, Bart. All of it. I gotta make her see what I was thinkin' – it didn't have nothin' to do with my love for her or Grace. It was just . . . boredom. Old age. Insanity. Not wanting to face the possibility that we were broke, and I should have told her a long time before I did. Leavin' you to solve the problem for me, because I couldn't solve it on my own."

"There's still no crime in needin' help from your brother, Bret," Bart said it quietly, gently, as a reminder rather than a rebuke.

"I know, Bart. But I forget that time to time and try to solve everything by myself."

"You ready to go see the marshal?"

"Yeah, and to get back home as soon as possible."

XXXXXXXX

Two days later they were sitting in John Dunwood's office in the Blackwood Hotel, telling him the whole story. All Dunwood could do was shake his head. "You're both lucky you're alive."

It was Bart that answered. "You're not the first person to tell us that, John."

"Or the first person to think it," Bret added.

"You leaving in the morning?"

"Yep. Got to go home and face the music."

John laughed before he told Bart, "Don't forget to stop by here before you leave."

As they left, Bret asked, "What was that about?"

"Oh, just something I promised John I'd take care of for him."

"You sure you don't wanna leave tonight?"

"No, Brother Bret, tomorrow morning will be just fine."

TBC 


	15. Baby , You're a Rich Man

Chapter 15 – Baby, You're a Rich Man

"You weren't there when I woke up this morning."

Bart shook his head. "Nope. I was downstairs with John. I promised to do somethin' for him."

"Have anything to do with what you agreed to take care of for Jeff Abbott?"

Bart smiled. "As a matter of fact, it did."

"And what was that?"

Bart's expression was now a full-fledged grin. "Kinda nosy, aren't you?"

Bret nodded, a desperate look on his face. "I'm trying to distract myself."

"From . . . ?"

"From what I'm gonna tell Ginny."

The younger Maverick was getting a kick out of this. "Thought you said you were gonna tell her the truth."

"I am." Pause. "I am." Long pause. "There's different ways of tellin' her the truth. I learned that long ago. From Buckley."

"There's a name I haven't heard in a long time. I wonder where Jim is?"

Bret snorted. "Please. There's trouble I don't need these days."

"There's trouble none of us needs."

"You haven't answered my question."

"You noticed that."

"Bart . . . "

"I can't give you an answer, not until we get home."

"Are you gonna tell me before or after Ginny kills me?"

"It depends."

"Did I ever tell you that you can be obnoxious?"

"Many times over the years, Brother Bret. Many times."

XXXXXXXX

"Did you plan it this way?"

Bart was a happy man. He'd had practice at this 'returning from trips' thing. "Of course I did. This isn't the first trip I've come home from. It's so much easier when the little ones are already in bed asleep – you get a lovin' wife tonight and the cattle stampede in the mornin'. Or in your case, you get killed tonight and a lot of happy gurgling and cooing in the morning."

"Thanks, son."

"Don't mention it, Pappy."

They were halfway across the front porch of the house when both were hit by flying objects – Ginny Malone Maverick and Doralice Donovan Maverick. There was a lot of hugging and kissing until Bart picked up Doralice and carried her inside. Bret stood there awkwardly looking at Ginny, unable because of his wrist to follow suit.

"I . . . I can't, honey. My wrist . . . my wrist won't let me."

"Your wrist won't . . . oh, my," Ginny breathed out. "Let me see that." She got hold of his elbow and dragged him inside. Bart and Doralice had already disappeared into their bedroom, leaving Bret and Ginny the whole front room. His wrist didn't look near as bad as it had just three days ago, but it was still swollen from the riding, although the redness had decreased. "What happened?" she barely whispered.

"I got . . . I got shot. It was either that or let'em shoot Bart, and I didn't think Doralice would appreciate it if I did."

A shake of that beautiful red hair. "No, she wouldn't," Ginny choked out. "How bad is it?"

"Doc said I was lucky," Bret answered her optimistically. "It should be all right just in time to hold junior."

"Oh, Bret," the woman who usually avoided crying sobbed into his chest. "You could have been . . . "

"I know. Crippled in that wrist. Doc made that real clear. But I'm not. This is one Maverick that will live to play poker another day. Although not on this trip."

"I don't understand. Why didn't you and Bart come home, if you couldn't play . . . "

"Well, Bart had this plan. And it worked. Sort of . . . "

She took him by the right hand and pulled him into the bedroom where she'd been sleeping. Grace Louise was in the children's bedroom down the hall, sound asleep with all her cousins. She drew him into a long, deep kiss that succeeded in stopping her crying. When they broke apart she smiled at him through her tears and held onto him tightly. "So this plan . . . would it prevent you from selling Goodnight?"

"You know about that?" He was surprised, to say the least.

"I know somethings been wrong for a while. I figured it out while you were gone, looking over the books for Pinkerton and the books for the ranch. I could see that big hole where my income should have been. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I just didn't want you to know what a failure I'd been. I wasn't winnin' enough here in town to keep us goin', and I should have done somethin' a while back. Coulda gone to Claytonville to play, or even up north to Murphy's Corners . . . but I kept thinkin' things would change. Then when they didn't, Jed Danley made me an offer on Goodnight . . . I figured if I could win enough in San Antone to cover everything . . . and if I couldn't I had the offer on the horse. Then this happened."

They sat on the bed, and Bret continued to hold his wife. The baby kicked and Ginny quit crying, and for a moment Bret though it still might all work out. Then she asked the question he dreaded. "You said Bart had a plan and that it worked. Sort of. What does that mean?"

Bret sighed. Here was the end of life as he knew it; he truly believed Ginny would tell him to get out and never come back . . . and as he began his woeful tale, Bart was explaining the same thing to Doralice . . .

XXXXXXXX

"And then what happened?"

"I drew him outta the house with the envelope full of newspaper."

"But the real money was lyin' on the floor of the cabin?"

"By that time, yeah." Bart stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. Doralice was lying in his arms in bed, and right about then he was the happiest man on earth. "Can't I finish this in the mornin', darlin'? There's lots more things I can think of to do rather than tell you this horror story tonight."

She snuggled closer to him and laughed that delicious laugh she had. "I know you can. And that's why I'm about to burst with baby number five. Finish the story."

Bart sighed. She had a point. Besides, right now knowing how much he loved her was enough – for both of them. "The marshal got the drop on Max, and I jumped him. His gun went off and hit the lantern, and the cabin went up in flames, the ten thousand dollars right along with it. I thought for a minute Bret was goin' up in flames, too, but I got him out in time."

"So, no money at all?"

"Well . . . "

XXXXXXXX

"You what?"

There was no cuddling and kissing going on in the other bedroom. Ginny was as mad as he'd ever seen her, and it didn't appear that she was going to calm down anytime soon. And all he could do was sit and wait for the storm to pass so he could try to explain why he'd done the stupid things he'd done. "I . . . I went with her. It was nothin,' Ginny, it was just to kill time until I could meet Bart later. She told me about her brothers and sisters, and the life she had growin' up, and everything else she could think of, I swear. If there'd been anything else to do . . . but that don't matter. It was stupid, and dumb, and got me in even worse trouble . . . it was a ransom plot, that's all it was. The guy she was workin' with was a wanted murderer named Max Riley, and they had us pegged as rich gents. While Bart played poker, they grabbed me and demanded twenty thousand dollars to keep me alive. . . "

Ginny wanted to scream; to cry and moan and wail at the top of her lungs, and she couldn't . . . the sound caught in her throat and refused to wake the entire house. She clenched her teeth and shut her eyes; she coughed and choked and tried to hold onto her dinner. He . . . went . . . with . . . the girl. Went with her. Voluntarily. There was no gun to his head. While she was learning to knit from her sister-in-law . . . he went with the girl. How could he . . . how could he do that to her . . . to her and Grace Louise . . . and the new life that grew inside her . . . how could he . . . and then she raised her face, with the tears running down it, and stared at him. Bret Maverick, the man she'd loved for so long that she'd forgotten all else . . . she heard his words, but didn't comprehend their meaning . . . she could hear it in his voice, see it in his eyes . . . he was ashamed, and humiliated, and she felt more pain than she'd ever felt in her entire life.

And then she looked again, and there was something else . . . something in his face she hadn't seen before. There was the unexpected love that had grown over the years, the emotions he'd never anticipated feeling for her, the deep, deep regret that he'd hurt her, the promise that it would never happen again. And she knew they'd both learned something – they were stronger together, in the arms of the truth, than they could ever be apart.

"I . . . love . . . you," she sobbed, and he held her tightly and rocked her, and she held him just as tightly, as fiercely as she ever thought possible, and knew that they would be alright, for the rest of their lives, as long as they held onto each other.

XXXXXXXX

"Is this really necessary?" Bret asked the next morning, as Bart dragged him off to God-knows-where. He had to get Ginny and Grace home, and send word to Jed Danley that he was willing to sell Goodnight, and a thousand other little things.

"Yes, it is necessary, and it's necessary right now." Bart answered him abruptly, but only because Bret had asked the same question four times already.

"Then at least tell me where we're goin'."

"Quit bein' so impatient and you'll find out soon enough."

Bret couldn't help it. He and Ginny had resolved their differences and vowed never to keep secrets from each other again, and he was anxious to get her and the baby home and get started. Whatever Bart had in store would do nothing but delay that. They stopped at the telegraph office first and Bart picked up not one but three wires; then they headed back down the street to the sheriff's office. "Now what did I do?" Bret insisted, but all Bart did was laugh. Sheriff Dave Parker was there, evidently waiting for them, and so was Burton Haskell, the banker.

"What's this all about?" Bret persisted in asking one more time.

"You seem to have gone on a little adventure, Mr. Maverick," Haskell remarked. "One that you might not even have been aware of."

"One that I'm sure you weren't aware of," Bart added.

"Alright, Dave, excuse me, Sheriff Parker, what am I under arrest for?"

Dave Parker been a year ahead of Bret and Bart in school, and had recently taken over as sheriff of Little Bend. "You're not, Bret. But Mr. Haskell does have something you're gonna have to sign for."

"Actually, I have two things that require your signature, Mr. Maverick." He pointed at two separate sheets of paper. "Here and here."

Bret carefully examined the two pieces of paper. "These are bank drafts, in my name. One's for two-hundred fifty dollars, the other ones for five-thousand dollars. What in the world?"

"By signing them, they will be deposited directly into your account at the Little Bend Bank and Trust. I take it that is acceptable to you."

Bret turned to his younger brother. "What is this, Bart? No more foolin' around now."

"Excuse us for a moment, gentlemen?" Bart steered his brother to the other side of the office. "Remember the favor John Dunwood wanted me to take care of for him? And the matter Jeff Abbott wanted to consult me about? The two-fifty is the reward for Finnegan Wells, the five thousand is for Max Riley. Both men wanted the rewards to go to you."

"But why? You had more to do with their capture than I did."

"Bret." Once again Bart took hold of his brother's shoulders and looked right into his eyes. "Never argue with a man who wants to give you the reward. Both of 'em figured there wouldn't be no arrests without you. And this helps to replace part of the money that got burned in the fire."

"But I . . . "

"Everybody needs help sometimes."

Bret got a twinkle in his eye. "You got three telegrams."

Bart had to chuckle. It sounded like Bret was back to being his usual self. "Remember poker at the Gaslight? I didn't just win money – there was a thoroughbred mare named Stardust that came with one of the pots. Her owner – er, ex-owner – wired to let me know when he was shipping her. We've got the start of our herd, Bret."

"And we can build the new barn after all."

"See? Things all work out in the end."

"Ain't you the optimist?" Bret asked with a chuckle.

"As long as you sign those bank drafts Mr. Haskell has in your name."

Bret gave it a moment's thought. "Maybe Max and Smokey weren't wrong after all when they thought we were rich gents."

"Maybe not, Brother Bart, maybe not."

The End


End file.
